Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker Page A
Authors: Sandra D. Bricker
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and reception
___ Select and meet with the florist
___ Finalize bride's floral choices
___ Finalize bridal registry
Bride:
___ FIND THE DRESS!
9
T oo frou-frou."
"Okay. How about this one?"
"Looks like a pile of meringue."
"And this one?"
"Are you serious? You can't be serious."
Emma stepped back from the rack, her hand on her hip.
"Sherilyn. Why don't you tell me what you are looking for."
"Nothing I see here."
"Dude!" Fee exclaimed, and they turned around to find her collapsed in a chair, her head tilted backward. "What have you got against wedding dresses?"
"Nothing," she said with a sigh.
"Then what have you got against us? Give us a clue, huh? What do you want?"
Sherilyn dropped to the chair next to Fee. "What about you? You're engaged. Why aren't we looking for a dress for you?"
Fee curled up her face slightly and shrugged. Lifting her ringless hand, she wiggled her fingers at the both of them.
"Fee and Peter broke up last night."
"What?!" Sherilyn gasped. "Oh, Fee? Are you all right?"
Fee nodded. "It's been coming for a while."
Sherilyn looked to Emma, and she nodded knowingly.
"What . . . happened?"
"Well, that's the deal," Fee told her. "Nothing happened. Even though we get along great, and I adore the guy, I guess I just realized it wasn't enough for wedding bells."
"No?" Sherilyn asked softly, and Fee shook her head.
"I don't know if I'm capable of the whole fireworks kind of thing," she admitted. "But I'd like to hold out a while and see."
"I'm so sorry," Sherilyn said, and she rubbed Fee's hand.
"It's all good," Fee told them. "Let's get back to the business at hand. Unlike me, you, my friend, have fireworks with your guy. Let's find you a wedding dress, huh?"
Sherilyn looked up at Emma standing over her. "I'm sorry. I really am. I'm just not feeling any of them."
"What would you feel then?" Emma asked her, and she caressed her shoulder sweetly. "What does your perfect wedding dress look like?"
"Nothing with a train," she stated with conviction. "We want a small, intimate wedding, so I was thinking something floor length, or tea length even. Simple, elegant, and just a little . . . I don't know . . . extraordinary. Like something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie, only a dozen sizes larger."
"Stop it."
"Well, I'm not a size six anymore," she admitted. "On a really good day, I'm a twelve. Which, in wedding designer speak, is like a twenty."
"Not all designers," Fee assured her.
"What else?" Emma asked.
"I don't want anything strapless or with teeny little spaghetti straps. I need a sleeve, even if it's just a cap. Or a thicker one, like this." She used her fingers to draw out a wide tank strap pattern on her shoulder. "I have these pockets of fat right
here." She punctuated the point by pinching an inch of flesh just beneath her shoulder.
"When did this happen to you?"
"I don't know. I've always been able to eat what I wanted, but one day I just started—"
"No," Emma stopped her. "I mean, your self-esteem."
"Oh."
Sherilyn fell silent and set about examining the toe of her shoe.
"It's just that . . ." she said in a raspy splinter of a whisper, "sometimes I wonder . . . you know . . . how someone like Andy . . . can . . ."
"Sherilyn, no."
"I can't help it, Em. How did I score someone like him?"
"Dude," Fee interjected in monotone. "Get over yourself. You're a catch."
Sherilyn couldn't help herself, and the laughter burst out of her. When Emma leaned over and hugged her, she reached out and included Fee in the embrace as well.
"I love you guys."
"Yeah, yeah," Fee sang. "Now let's find your dress. It's in here somewhere."
"Yes. But where?"
"I think I might know."
The three of them glanced up in tandem. The clerk stood over them, smiling.
"I heard part of your conversation, and when you described the dress you're looking for, it occurred to me that you might not know we have a vintage section upstairs. And there's a dress up there that I really think
___ Select and meet with the florist
___ Finalize bride's floral choices
___ Finalize bridal registry
Bride:
___ FIND THE DRESS!
9
T oo frou-frou."
"Okay. How about this one?"
"Looks like a pile of meringue."
"And this one?"
"Are you serious? You can't be serious."
Emma stepped back from the rack, her hand on her hip.
"Sherilyn. Why don't you tell me what you are looking for."
"Nothing I see here."
"Dude!" Fee exclaimed, and they turned around to find her collapsed in a chair, her head tilted backward. "What have you got against wedding dresses?"
"Nothing," she said with a sigh.
"Then what have you got against us? Give us a clue, huh? What do you want?"
Sherilyn dropped to the chair next to Fee. "What about you? You're engaged. Why aren't we looking for a dress for you?"
Fee curled up her face slightly and shrugged. Lifting her ringless hand, she wiggled her fingers at the both of them.
"Fee and Peter broke up last night."
"What?!" Sherilyn gasped. "Oh, Fee? Are you all right?"
Fee nodded. "It's been coming for a while."
Sherilyn looked to Emma, and she nodded knowingly.
"What . . . happened?"
"Well, that's the deal," Fee told her. "Nothing happened. Even though we get along great, and I adore the guy, I guess I just realized it wasn't enough for wedding bells."
"No?" Sherilyn asked softly, and Fee shook her head.
"I don't know if I'm capable of the whole fireworks kind of thing," she admitted. "But I'd like to hold out a while and see."
"I'm so sorry," Sherilyn said, and she rubbed Fee's hand.
"It's all good," Fee told them. "Let's get back to the business at hand. Unlike me, you, my friend, have fireworks with your guy. Let's find you a wedding dress, huh?"
Sherilyn looked up at Emma standing over her. "I'm sorry. I really am. I'm just not feeling any of them."
"What would you feel then?" Emma asked her, and she caressed her shoulder sweetly. "What does your perfect wedding dress look like?"
"Nothing with a train," she stated with conviction. "We want a small, intimate wedding, so I was thinking something floor length, or tea length even. Simple, elegant, and just a little . . . I don't know . . . extraordinary. Like something out of an Audrey Hepburn movie, only a dozen sizes larger."
"Stop it."
"Well, I'm not a size six anymore," she admitted. "On a really good day, I'm a twelve. Which, in wedding designer speak, is like a twenty."
"Not all designers," Fee assured her.
"What else?" Emma asked.
"I don't want anything strapless or with teeny little spaghetti straps. I need a sleeve, even if it's just a cap. Or a thicker one, like this." She used her fingers to draw out a wide tank strap pattern on her shoulder. "I have these pockets of fat right
here." She punctuated the point by pinching an inch of flesh just beneath her shoulder.
"When did this happen to you?"
"I don't know. I've always been able to eat what I wanted, but one day I just started—"
"No," Emma stopped her. "I mean, your self-esteem."
"Oh."
Sherilyn fell silent and set about examining the toe of her shoe.
"It's just that . . ." she said in a raspy splinter of a whisper, "sometimes I wonder . . . you know . . . how someone like Andy . . . can . . ."
"Sherilyn, no."
"I can't help it, Em. How did I score someone like him?"
"Dude," Fee interjected in monotone. "Get over yourself. You're a catch."
Sherilyn couldn't help herself, and the laughter burst out of her. When Emma leaned over and hugged her, she reached out and included Fee in the embrace as well.
"I love you guys."
"Yeah, yeah," Fee sang. "Now let's find your dress. It's in here somewhere."
"Yes. But where?"
"I think I might know."
The three of them glanced up in tandem. The clerk stood over them, smiling.
"I heard part of your conversation, and when you described the dress you're looking for, it occurred to me that you might not know we have a vintage section upstairs. And there's a dress up there that I really think
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